


Lonely Cigarette

by semaphoredrivethru



Category: Actor RPF, Lord of the Rings RPF
Genre: Angst, Baby's First RPS, M/M, Pining, Theft of hotel property
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-13
Updated: 2012-04-13
Packaged: 2017-11-03 14:12:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/382197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/semaphoredrivethru/pseuds/semaphoredrivethru
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>the last cigarette in the pack, a few moments of thought.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lonely Cigarette

**Author's Note:**

> This was my very first RPS, posted to LJ on April 16, 2004.

The hotel room still smells like sex when Orlando rolls out of the bed. His bare feet make quiet brushing noises on the thick carpet as he pads over to the bathroom for the white terry cloth robe that these swanky places always leave for their guests. Orlando thinks the robes are just there to tempt people into taking an extra souvenir, and to give the hotel one more thing to add under the “Misc. Charges” column on the bill. He has a whole collection of them at the small empty apartment in London that he calls “home,” even though he’s hardly ever there. They’ve all got embroidery on the left breast pocket; one has a really elaborate “S,” another a “W,” and one has an “M,” but none of them have an “O,” which is kind of funny when he thinks about it.

Once he has the robe on, Orlando walks over to where he tossed his suit jacket earlier. He reaches into the inside pocket, and pulls out a crumpled pack of cigarettes. He shakes the small cardboard box back and forth to make sure the lighter is in there, and then walks past the empty and rumpled bed, over to the sliding glass door and out onto the cold cement balcony.

The city is spread out before him, and for a minute Orlando can’t remember where he is. But he doesn’t worry about it; it’s late, and even the city is moving slowly, and Orlando knows everything will be back to normal in the morning. Back to normal, back to the world where he’s always smiling and happy, Mr. Success Story. It’s a world that has no place for tired men that pick up strangers in hotel bars for anonymous sex, or men that sneak out onto the balconies of non-smoking rooms for a late-night fag. Tomorrow will be another day, with another interview, another plane ride, and another hotel room.

Orlando pulls the last cigarette out of the pack, digs around for the stupid little half-sized lighter he swiped from Elijah last month, and tosses the empty pack over the railing. He wraps his lips over his teeth, and clamps them around the filtered end of the cigarette. The lighter sparks a few times before finally catching, and Orlando touches the flame to the end of the long white tube, pulling deeply until the end glows a bright orange-red.

The paper of the cigarette crackles in complaint as it burns, and Orlando puts the lighter in the breast pocket with a large “H” on it before taking the cigarette between his thumb and forefinger. The filter sticks to his lips for a moment, and then the connection is broken like it never was, except for the brief sting that reminds Orlando to pick up some lip balm in the morning. He holds the smoke in his mouth for a few seconds before sucking in a deep breath, filling his lungs as much as he can.

Sometimes, Orlando wonders what his friends would say if they knew he smoked, even though it’s only once in a while. Elijah, Dom and Billy would probably laugh and make a few obnoxious comments about Perfect Orlando having such a human vice. Sean would shake his head, and say something about it being fucking stupid. And Viggo…

Orlando sighs, and flips his cigarette around so he can tap the bit of ash off the end. Just like always, the thought of Viggo stings, and Orlando tries to cover the feeling up with an exceptionally deep drag that makes his lungs tingle and a cough threaten in the back of his throat. Viggo wouldn’t like it, but that doesn’t make much of difference, because he’s been keeping a “friendly distance” between the two of them ever since Orlando made a fool of himself.

Viggo had been nice about it of course; he was always so fucking polite, even when goofing off. But he had made it abundantly clear that while he cared deeply for Orlando, it wasn’t _that way_. Not the way Orlando wanted, anyway.

Orlando leans on the balcony railing, resting his forearms on the smooth metal. He takes another drag, and exhaling the smoke as he tries to banish the memory of that horrible night. It is so much better, he thinks, to pretend that everything had gone the way he had hoped. That Viggo is in the room behind him, maybe using the bathroom, and that he’d come out any second now, wearing a loose pair of pajama pants and a smile.

The imaginary Viggo steps out through the still open door, and stands next to Orlando, his lower back resting against the rail as he crosses his arms over his chest, an exasperated grin on his face.

“Those are bad for you,” he says quietly, and Orlando laughs.

“Yeah,” he says. “I know, but it was the last one in the pack; I couldn’t let it be lonely.”

Viggo nods seriously, but then he chuckles. “No one wants to be lonely,” he agrees.

They stand there for a minute. Orlando watches as tiny cars drive by on the street far below, and Viggo watches Orlando finish his cigarette. Orlando flicks the butt away, and Viggo scowls slightly.

“Bad enough that you have _that_ habit,” Viggo says. “But do you have to litter, too?”

Orlando shrugs. “Sorry,” he says.

“Of course you are.”

Orlando responds by sticking his tongue out at Viggo.

“Promises, promises,” Viggo laughs. Then he reaches out, and brushes his hand along Orlando’s cheek. It’s the softest of touches, and it could be just a stray breeze that is making the hairs on the nape of Orlando’s neck stand on end.

Viggo just stands there for a while, looking at Orlando with this look that starts making Orlando a bit nervous.

“What is it, Vig?” Orlando asks.

“I was just wondering,” Viggo says. “Would you quit if I asked you to?”

Orlando smiles and reaches out to Viggo, stopping just short of making contact. “Only if you promise to love me always,” he answers.

Viggo laughs. “It’s a deal, then,” he says. He steps away, almost out of Orlando’s line of vision. “I’m going to go to bed,” he says, “join me?”

“Be there in a bit,” Orlando replies. “Love you.”

“You too.” 

And then Viggo is gone, and Orlando’s left standing on the balcony. He sighs, and reaches into the pocket of his robe before remember that he’s just finished his last cigarette. The wind picks up, and Orlando shivers as he goes back into the room, closing the sliding door behind him.

Orlando stands still for a moment, trying to recapture the feeling of peace he had a few moments ago. Then he unties the soft belt around his waist, takes off the robe and tosses it over his open suitcase. He hears the clatter of plastic against wood as the lighter falls out of the pocket and hits the molding between floor and wall. Licking his slightly chapped lips, Orlando tastes the last remnants of the acrid smoke, and makes a mental note to get another pack of cigarettes as soon as no one is looking.

Then he climbs into the empty bed, and pulls the sheet up over his naked body. The bed is cold and rumpled, and the pillow lumpy in all the wrong places as Orlando turns the light off, and slowly drifts away to sleep.

Alone.


End file.
